Unforgiven
by Requiem For Absolution
Summary: Apologies are overdue; revenge is sought. Friendship is needed; loneliness haunts them both. Forgiveness is needed; pride entraps any hope of redemption.  Rage overrides logic; atonement is a word neither know. And still the Paladins linger, waiting...
1. Weakness

Hey, all. This is a nonprofit fanfiction. So please don't sue me.

* * *

**U ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter One: Weakness

_The young Jumper stood at the feet of his parent's bodies. They had fallen, sprawled over each other in a pool of blood that was still warm. He was shaking violently, but otherwise betrayed no sign of emotion. His face was a mask of apathy, and even as he felt the blood around his ankles cool, he turned to face the dark man behind him who had brought this chaos, this destruction, into his life. The dark man smiled. The child smiled back, a terrible and twisted grin that was a hint at the insanity that would pursue him for the rest of his life. For a single, unbroken second, the two were at peace with their fates, accepting them, accepting their adversary, the lives which they had unknowingly entwined. And then that one moment shattered as the dark man knelt in front of the child and –  
_

\/\/\/\/_  
_

Griffin awoke in a cold sweat, shaking as uncontrollably as he had seconds ago in the dream-memory which had haunted him for months. His eyes were glittering in the darkness of Chechnya, reflecting the light of the distant explosions. His clothes were torn, his skin was burnt, his sanity was hanging by a thread, and yet, he was still alive. Alive in a life of agonizing, anguishing pain.

How long had he been here now? How long had it been since David had abandoned him? Hours? Days?

Weeks?

He couldn't tell. He'd passed out of conciousness several times from the electrical surges, and from sheer pain in other instances. All he knew was that he was still alive, and he wished to God that he was dead. No matter how many times you felt a certain pain, it always felt as though it was new. You couldn't become desensitized to pain, it was the very antithesis of its existence.

He wondered maniacally why he wasn't dead yet. There was moisture on his skin, and it was _raining_, and he was trapped in an electrical tower, and God knew, he'd endured enough in the last (_oh, God, how long, how long?_) week? that he couldn't even make sense out of the simplest things. He'd tried every technique he knew of to block out the ceaseless, relentless pain, and still it broke through his defences, reducing him to a screaming wreck. His throat was hoarse, his muscles were trembling with exhaustion and fear, and every inch of his body was howling in burning protest at the white fire that was surging through it –

– but it wasn't.

Griffin paused.

There was no new pain. There was pain, of course, but there was no _new _pain. No ceaseless surges or burning, no electricity, no new torture. The electricity had stopped.

So _that _was why he wasn't dead.

Griffin shakily raised one hand up to grip the freezing metal, blindly looking through the night for some clue as to what had granted his release. When he saw none, he tried to pull himself up, and instead fell backwards, dangling from his ankles and knee as his torso lost the position it had held for so long. His arms had no strength; they couldn't keep him up.

As another flood of pain swept from his ankles, Griffin dimly became aware of the fact that he was, indeed, upside down. Curious. How long had it taken him to notice that? Five minutes?

"Losing your touch," he whispered to himself, and then laughed crazily, face going red from the blood flowing to it. Slowly, numbly, he lifted his knee up, extending his leg in as though he was a ballet dancer. At the same time, he wriggled his ankle, cutting it on the sharp metal and not even noticing. The fact that he was falling –_falling?_– had driven that from his mind, until he crashed into the soft clay of the earth.

"D-I-R-T," he murmured. "That spells dirt. I-N-S-A-N-I-T-Y. That spells being crazy, and Griffin, old boy, old chap, that's what you are."

Chuckling weakly at his own oh-so-witty joke, he turned over onto his stomach and clawed at the earth, slowing pulling himself along it. He made about half a foot, before stopping and panting for breath. He vaguely considered Jumping, and then without even realizing it, fell through a wormhole that he might have created. Had he made it? Had another Jumper? Who knew? It was there.

Raising himself up weakly on two torn and bleeding hands – _when had that happened?_– he looked around the area that he was in. A cave. Black rock. Sand on the floor. Completely dry, save the waterfall that fell past a tiny, less than a metre-square hole about ten feet away from him.

Oh, yes.

Backup lair.

How fun.

Griffin slumped back onto the floor, aware that he was soaking wet with blood and rain, and found that he couldn't care less. He was so tired. So tired…

He passed out.

\/\/\/\/

_And then that one moment shattered as the dark man knelt in front of the child and lightly laid his hands on his shoulders. Their eyes locked, one pair that suddenly seemed too old, and one pair that seemed eternal, ageless. Then the first of the electrical shocks began, and the child ripped himself out of the dark man's grip, running to the kitchen and grabbing the biggest, the longest knife there. Rage was all that his mind could process. Gone was the peace and acceptance of the moments before; now he was furious, and fighting for change that was never going to be granted to him. He ran to stab the dark man, who laughed and easily disarmed him, taking the knife and quickly slicing the arm of the child who had carried it. The boy began to cry, and the air shimmered around him, before exploding inwards with a massive CRACK! _

"_Goodbye, little boy," the dark man whispered. "We'll meet again, soon." _

_And they did. _

\/\/\/\/_  
_

Returning to conciousness was nasty. Returning to conciousness and then having waves of pain sweep your body, both mental and physical, was worse.

Griffin lay helplessly on the sand of his new lair, unable to summon the energy to move. If Roland himself had appeared before him, Griffin would have just stayed down and taken the knife. He was that exhausted.

How long had it been since he had eaten? Drunk? How long had he been enduring the everlasting electricity?

Now possessed with a flicker of energy, Griffin stretched out his arms, both of which were still steadily bleeding, and pulled himself through the sand to a dark metal cabinet against a rocky wall. It was a safe, one of dozens in the cave, and, barely able to remember the combination, Griffin inexpertly opened it and pulled out a small digital clock.

"What…?"

Nineteen days.

How the hell had he survived nineteen days without nourishment?

Almost afraid to look, Griffin carefully raised himself up again, and looked at his body. His _thin _body. His _scrawny _body. The muscles had atrophied in the space of a two and a half weeks, providing food for his body to live off. That explained a lot, but what about water? If you were to go more than two days without water in a place like Chechnya, you were running a high risk of dying, and if you went nineteen days…

He should be dead. By all rights, he should have died long ago, but in this case especially, he should have been dead.

Interesting.

Griffin reached into the safe again and pulled out a bottle of water. Unscrewing it, he greedily drank the whole bottle, throwing up a second later as his stomach revolted.

"Okay, rewind," he whispered. He brought out another bottle (there had been three in there to begin with) and drank it, a sip at a time. It was slow, but his stomach didn't rebel again, and he felt slightly more sane. He repeated the process with the last bottle in that particular safe, and then lay back, thinking.

Nineteen days in Chechnya, and he was still alive. Bleeding, half-insane, emaciated, but alive. He wasn't strong enough to even think about Jumping, and another train of thought interrupted his current one. He knew he hadn't created the wormhole that had let him go through to his lair. Someone else had. Not David; David didn't even know of the existence of this. So, who?

Griffin thought about that for a long period of time, eventually coming upon the answer in his own twisted, delirious way. It slipped away as soon as he thought it, but the truth itself was still there, hidden under layers of mental incoherency. He might have passed out again for a moment, maybe not. When he came around, or became aware of the situation he was in again, he realized that he needed more food. And water. And food. And … everything.

Nineteen days…

He pulled himself along to the next safe, this one stocked with food and water, and fumbled with the lock, trying different combinations. Each time one failed, he grew increasingly panicky, before finally the last code he could remember opened it. He dragged out another six bottles of water, and several packets of dried fruits. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

Nineteen days.

Two and a half weeks.

No water beyond that which had been brought to him by the Russian electrician.

Russian electrician?

Oh, yes. The old man who had that ridiculous moustache and amazingly long ladder that could actually reach him. The electrician and the technician. The water carriers. The angels, he seemed to dimly remember calling them at one point. What had happened to them? He wasn't sure. He couldn't remember. What was the electrician's name? He couldn't remember. Why had he saved him? He couldn't remember.

Groaning softly in frustration, Griffin pulled himself slowly into a sitting position, leaning against the cool safe. Sipping on another water bottle, he closed his eyes and began to think.

The electrician.

Andrei Alkaev.

Founder of the Anti-Paladin Activist group.

Or had he just made that up in his head?

Griffin groaned again, louder, and gently hit himself in the head, whispering harshly to himself "Get a grip!"

Where was he right now? The backup lair, hidden within a massive forest. The entrance was nothing more than a hole, smaller than a metre-square, and about six feet long. You had to crawl through six feet of rough, damp rock to get into this cave if you were a normal human, and right now, that was impossible. Griffin couldn't quite think why, but he knew he was safe, _somehow_.

Why was he here? Because he'd been abandoned in Chechnya for nineteen days. Why had he been in Chechnya? Because of David.

David.

David, who betrayed him, abandoned him, forgotten him.

Griffin felt a sick mixture of anger and hate start to begin throbbing in his head, and he turned so that he was sitting between two of the ten safe's, leaning against one, with his head resting on the cool surface of the other. Able to think a little more clearly, he continued reassessing his situation.

He was in the new lair. His old one had been violated, destroyed. David was responsible for his current state of injury. He probably needed to go to a hospital and get treated for dehydration and starvation, not to mention electrical burns, but the risk of the Paladins was too high. He couldn't Jump, yet, and he was exhausted. Not to mention, still in a lot of pain. He had food, and water, and a bed –

Griffin's thoughts stopped there. A bed. If he slept, he'd be able to start recovering. And if he went into a coma, well, even that seemed better than being conscious right now.

He let go of the safe and weakly started crawling across the sand to the three queen-sized mattresses he'd stacked on top of each other in a corner. They were top quality when he'd taken them, and probably still were; there weren't any insects or damp to affect them in the new lair.

So. How did he get up?

Griffin pondered that, lying on his stomach and resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. At the moment, the top of the bed was about sixteen inches higher than his head. He couldn't move his legs properly, and his arms were trembling with the effort of simply moving himself, let alone pulling his thin frame up again.

"Get a grip!" Griffin hissed at himself again, and with a tremendous effort of will power and sheer stubbornness, threw his arms up and grabbed the top mattress. Gripping a handful of the material in each hand, he slowly pulled himself into a kneeling position. Slowly. It took at least five minutes for that to happen, and he stayed in that position for a moment, before rolling his eyes and pulling the rest of his body up.

Once he was entirely on the mattress, he let out a short and vicious laugh of triumph, before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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_Author's Note: _

Just a quick note here - calling Roland "the dark man" isn't intended as a racist slur. It's a throwback to Stephen King's _"The Stand" _and the awesomness of the antagonist Randall Flagg - nicknamed, the dark man.

Hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please leave a review and let me know what you think!


	2. Agreements

**U ****ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter Two: Agreements

As life would have it, while Griffin had spent the last nineteen days in agony, David had had the happiest nineteen days of his life. He was together with Millie; he had a sister who, in spite of her initial shyness, gone out for coffee with him; and his mother wasn't even pretending to act as though she was going to track him down. After their initial meeting, he'd become consumed with a desire to see her again, and so even though it was incredibly dangerous, he had gone back. Expecting to be met by electricity and rage, Mary had welcomed him in and told him flatly that she simply couldn't hurt him. She could pretend that she was going to, as she had before, and make him leave … but she was never really a threat. She couldn't bring herself to kill him.

After that, things had gone as perfectly as they could go. He spent his days with Millie, exploring the wonders of the world; he spent his nights with his mother and sister, catching up and discussing everything except the Paladins and the Jumpers. Not out of any desire to keep it secret – (who was there to keep it secret from, anyway? Sophie, his sister, knew everything) – but out of mutual respect for the other. The elephant in the room aside, those nightly meetings were going fantastically well. Sophie was smart, and had a wickedly dry sense of humour, once she got past her initial shyness, and Mary was his mother.

No words could describe how wonderful it felt to have a mother again, after twenty years. He may have lost his father, but he'd never really had him in the first place. No, having his mother was far greater than anything his father had ever done. Having Millie, and utter unrestricted freedom… Was pure bliss.

Even after he'd learnt to Jump and robbed the bank for the first time, David had never been happier.

So, of course, the night after he'd decided that his life would be perfect from here on in, it flipped upside down and turned his whole world around.

\/\/\/

David knocked on the door, and was welcomed by the surprisingly serious face of his mother. Sophie was nowhere to be seen. Before he could even open his mouth to ask a question, Mary began to talk.

"Hello, David," she greeted him, and then paused, adding solemnly, "I think we need to have a talk."

David followed her into the lounge room, looking apprehensive. "About what?"

"Jumpers. Paladins. What's going to happen next." Mary sat down in an armchair, gesturing for him to take a seat as well.

"What do you mean?" He asked, sitting down on the couch.

"In light of recent events, I've been promoted. I now run the Paladin organization."

David flinched backwards. "Then I should kill you."

"And I should have killed you long ago. But here we are."

"What's your point?"

"Quite simply, I want to end the war."

"You're kidding. Aren't you guys supposed to be the ones who'll kill us at any cost? What's changed?"

"I have," Mary answered. "You're my son, David. If I can't kill you, it's completely hypocritical of me to order my subordinates to hunt after other Jumpers. I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I want to propose a truce. If both sides stop fighting, we will give Jumpers asylum, security, and safety. In return, we ask that our families are not targeted in misguided attempts at revenge for any of our previous actions."

"What, and the other Paladins are just going to sit back and let this happen?"

"I've been discussing it with them for the last three days. We've come to an agreement. Those of us who still believe that Jumpers are abominations against both God and nature will be released from our service, and all affiliations with us will be rendered null and void. We hope that there will not be any Jumpers out there who will still insist on fighting us, because the cycle of violence will only continue to grow. I want both sides to start on a clean slate. A peaceful, non-violent, slate, uninhibited by past grudges or campaigns for vengeance."

David raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to believe that?"

"It's the truth, son. Please. I'm sorry for what Roland and his subordinates put you through, but if we worked together, Jumpers and Paladins, we could erase him from this world. Not all of us are as psychopathic as him. We're willing to try this again. In every generation of Jumpers and Paladins, there have always been two kinds of each – the ones who are desperate to stop the fighting, and the ones who are desperate to continue it. In each generation, the ones who wish to prolong the war are the ones who have won out. By sheer luck, we have another chance for our generation. We can change the course of history, right here, right now. We can erase Roland and his legacy, and all of us could work together for another world."

David spread his arms. "So why haven't you started this?"

"Because we can't contact the Jumpers. Every single one of them dismisses any talk of a truce as a trap. If we run into them, the Jumpers will attack us without waiting to see why we haven't attacked them, first. It's as much our fault as theirs, but in any case, the result is the same; we can't start this truce if they keep running away."

"So you want me," David said flatly.

"Yes."

"To do what?"

"We need another Jumper. Someone who has connections to other Jumpers; someone who they trust completely. Someone who they'll believe if they bring back word of a truce. What I want you to do is find a Jumper like that, and bring them back to meet me."

"No Jumper would ever do that willingly," David muttered, running his hands through his short hair. He gave her an apologetic, almost embarrassed look. "I'm sorry, but that's the way it is. I've only met one other that I know of, and while I'm fairly sure he would know dozens of others, he might not even be alive right now. Even if he was…" David trailed off, and laughed harshly. "Even if he was, I'd have to tie him up for you two to meet. I'm sorry, Mum, but that's not going to happen. I'm not even sure I believe this talk of a truce, anyway."

Mary looked indescribably hurt for a moment. Her hands flew to her face to cover it, and she shuddered. She recovered her poise almost instantly, but he had seen how pained her expression was, how genuinely upset she had been by his comment of distrust. After two more seconds of silence, she murmured "Well, that's it then."

"What do you mean?"

"If you don't believe me – your own mother, David – if you don't believe me, who else will? If I can't convince my son, who can I convince?" She stood up, clearly agitated, and walked over to the large glass window, gazing out it. "I just want the war to end. I don't want to continue fighting people who don't deserve to have their lives ruined by us. Yes, they break the law, but in time, maybe we could even stop that, if we worked together. We just need cooperation. David, son, is it so much to ask? If you brought me someone who would listen, with an open mind, who could stop the war… You might be saving the lives of hundreds of people. Thousands."

David looked at the ground, face burning with shame. He didn't want to believe his mother, but at the same time, he couldn't see any reason she'd lie. She sounded completely honest… and she hadn't ever even tried to raise a hand against him. She continued, soft and gentle.

"I can understand your hesitance. You feel like you'd be betraying a Jumper if you had to hurt them to get them here. But, Davey –" he winced at the nickname, memories rushing back as she said it, "– If it saved the lives of hundreds of Jumpers, wouldn't it be worth it?"

"You can't ask me to do this!" David snapped.

"What?" Mary demanded, turning around. "Do you want this war to continue? Do you want to be responsible for a million more deaths? Yes, David, people are dying even as we speak, Jumpers and Paladins alike! If a few more get hurt, but hundreds more live, then why can't I ask you to? You're the only person I can rely on! The only person I can trust! You're being incredibly selfish, and I can't believe that you would honestly want these mutual massacres to go on if you have the chance to stop them! I'm giving everyone another chance! Every Jumper, every Paladin! I'm offering asylum and safety, rehabilitation and security! No more pointless deaths! Paladins and Jumpers can live their lives separate, unharmed, not involved in any kind of war at all! No more fighting! No more death! I want to make sure that you and Sophie are going to be safe in the years to come from each other! Do you think I want to see my children fighting each other? Killing each other? I can't let that happen, Davey!" She started crying, and came back to sit on the couch, shoulders racking with sobs. "I can't let that happen."

David moved to sit next to her, awkwardly petting her shoulder and half-hugging her. She sighed shakily, murmuring "I can't let that happen… No more deaths… No more dying… No more bodies turning up months after they disappeared… No more electrical torture… Just peace. Peace, Davey. Is that really… so terrible… to ask for one person who might be able to help bring this truce together… even though they might suffer at your hands in the process? If it would stop the war… stop any threat of you and Sophie attacking each other… stop the tragedies that happen when a new Jumper is discovered… stop the pain and the hurt and the rage… Is it really so bad?"

David's resolve was wavering, and he put his face into his hands. "You can't ask me to do this," he repeated, voice muffled through his fingers, but sounding unconvinced in any case.

"Hundreds of lives, Davey. Please, son, I need you to do this. I love you too much… I can't let you die as the result of a war that I could have stopped."

"Mum," he protested weakly, before straightening up and turning so that he was looking her straight in the eyes. "Hundreds of lives," he repeated, uncertainly.

"If not thousands in the future."

"And all you need is one person to stop it?"

"Yes."

David shuddered violently, before swallowing hard and nodding. "Alright. Alright."

"You'll do it?"

"Yes."

"Thank you." Mary said simply, touching him lightly on the shoulder. "Thank you."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_According to Wikipedia, David's half-sister's name is Sophie. I didn't make it up. Just lettin' you all know. Thank you for the review, Marie Poe, and to everyone else, please leave one. Please?  
In any case, take care, all. Should have the next chapter up in a little while... Hopefully.  
_


	3. Contrast

This chapter is dedicated to Mindy Morganna and Marie Poe for their reviews. Thank you!

* * *

**U ****ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter Three: Contrast 

Three months.

That was how long it took for both David and Griffin to act.

For David, it was out of sheer unwillingness to hurt another Jumper, and an impressive inability to even find anyone else.

For Griffin, it was because it took him three months to recover .

In those three months, several things changed drastically for both of them, and not for the most part, it wasn't for the better.

\/\/\/

Griffin lay on his stomach, on his bed, rapidly outlining plans across a large butcher sheet of paper. His writing was large and child-like, straggling across the page. His face was a mask of two emotions, rage and, again, child-like ecstasy, terrifying in their dissimilarity and their intensity. Like his writing, the innocence only made the viciousness that much more apparent. He was a frightening contrast at that moment in time; the hatred of a feral teen clashing against a child's pure and unbreakable joy.

He gripped the pen as a child did, and turned the page over, continuing to write. The moment he began to wind up his plans and start to return to a state of what he considered normalcy, the vivid emotions faded from his face, replaced by the amused apathy which served as his default mask to hide anything and everything else. When he had finally finished, he dropped the pen as though it had burned him, and sat up straight. He stretched easily, then stood up and gazed around his new lair.

It was a cave, about seven meters by five. The roof was just low enough for him to reach if he stood on tiptoes and stretched his arms out. The floor was, thanks to him, completely covered in six inches of white sand, taken from the Sahara desert.

He might have been homesick when he'd done that. So what?

Scattered around the lair were the usual pieces of furniture he brought with him; a power generator, a coffee table, a plasma TV (with a PlayStation 3 and Xbox 360 beside it), a couch that was incredibly comfortable, his bed (the same as before; three thick queen-sized mattresses piled up on top of each other), the safes, a couple of Persian rugs to spread on the sand, and several lamps.

There was also a globe of the world, dozens of DVDs of locations, briefcases full of CD discs with even more photographs, and a scrapbook comprised of his favourite haunts. The entrance into the lair had a flyscreen pounded over it, and a black curtain which could be moved to cover it at night to shield the light. He didn't think that any of the light make it through the thick, falling wall of water, or be seen. Nobody ever visited this waterfall; it was just another of the world's anonymous locations, left alone by almost everybody. Besides, the cave was what, halfway up the fall? Just another reason why it was less likely. But, the curtain was still there anyway. You could never be too careful.

Griffin had found the cave about a week before he'd met David in Rome. It was one of his many backups, but by far his favourite, hence his being there. To be honest, he didn't even know where it was exactly; he'd found it by Jumping to one point, then Jumping to the furthest location he could see from there. Rinse and repeat. Line-of-sight-Jumping.

Tilting his head to the side, the young man considered for a moment, idly running his hands over the globe. Where to go?

He'd almost completely recovered from his electrical incident. He hadn't managed to put all of the weight back on, but now he could pass as a casual anorexic rather than a prisoner of war who'd only just been released after three years. In the first week of his recovery, he'd eaten everything he could get his hands on, all the food in the lair and then all the takeaway he could "obtain". He'd healed amazingly fast, but then again, he always had. He was the freak of nature who could bounce back twice as hard when hit. That was the way he was. He definitely had all of his strength and energy back, to the point where he wondered if he was stronger than he had been when David had initially left him.

He was still grateful to Andrei, though, for saving his life. Sure, the Russian owed Griffin more than a few favours for … for **that **particular incident, but Griffin never really expected anyone to come through on debts owed. Even so, for a fifty year old Russian man to stand there patiently on a ladder for day after day and feed him and give him water – it was incredible. The same went for the electrician who had accompanied him on every trip, passing the supplies up the ladder. Every day for nineteen days. It had been them who had switched off the electricity as well, Griffin was sure of that. As for who made the wormhole for him to pass through, he was still hazy on that point.

That was one thing that he was never going to forgive David for; Griffin's already fragile mental state had been completely shattered by that tower. His memories had been splintered apart. Sure, he could remember everything to do with the Jumpers, the Paladins, and the War, but what about him? He couldn't remember his birthday, what town he'd been born in, what school he'd attended, and …

And his parent's faces.

Their voices, their personalities, their faces… They memories had completely faded, and no matter what he did, he couldn't bring them back. Before the electrical incident, Griffin had been able to remember them perfectly. Now they were masked in the same haze that hid the identity of the Jumper who had created the scar for him.

But their identity didn't matter. They were a friend, and that was all that mattered. He'd figured out one thing about them, though; they were a Saviour, part of a group that roamed the world, rescuing Jumpers. They were pacifists, more than anything, but they could still defend themselves if the occasion called for it. He'd been part of them, for a couple of weeks, before he decided that fighting was definitely more to his style than acting like a paramedic.

He'd been the lone wolf from there on in, and a hell of a lot happier for it.

Laughing quietly to himself, Griffin stretched easily and cracked his fingers, looking back at the globe. It displayed the times in each time-zone across the world at its base. He was itching to start Jumping again, get back out into the world, catch up with the others …

But he had everything he needed, right here. He could wait. He looked back at the sheet of butcher paper on his bed, now covered with his childish handwriting, and then back at the globe.

There was another clock, beside the aforementioned time-zones, with a silent red countdown that read:

11: 09: 31: 17

Eleven days, nine hours, thirty one minutes and seventeen seconds to go.

Oh, yes. Griffin softly laughed again.

He could wait.

\/\/\/

In an eerie parody of Griffin, David was lying on his bed and writing. Unlike the other, his handwriting was fluid and interconnected, a running style that had been painstakingly perfected in the many hours after high school ended when he wrote his journal. In the years that had passed, David had never kept another journal, but now he'd pulled one of his old ones out and started to write. It was calming. This is what the page read so far:

_Dear Journal;  
I haven't used you since I was fifteen. It feels weird to be confiding in a book. Paper. That's all you are. Paper. But you've held my secrets for a decade, so I may as well use you again. I'm in trouble. I don't know what to do. I'm a Jumper; I can teleport anywhere in the world just by thinking it. My first Jump happened when I was five, and my mother abandoned me. She was a Paladin, and Paladins hunt Jumpers and kill them. To quote another Jumper, "They're religious nut-jobs."  
That Jumper, I left stranded, to die, in an electrical tower. His name was Griffin. He's English, but apart from that, I have no idea about any of his history. He's an enigma. I didn't come here to write about him. But maybe he's part of the problem. I met my mum, again, see, and she wants to declare a truce between Jumpers and Paladins and stop the "war". Stop the deaths. I think it's a good idea, but I don't know if I can trust her. I think I can. I hope I can. She wants a Jumper, though. A Jumper who knows other Jumpers. Someone they can trust. That someone might be Griffin. He's the only other Jumper I know, and I left him to die because of Millie. He was going to set off a bomb in her apartment and kill the Paladins there, even though it was going to kill her as well. If he'd done that, he would've killed both Millie and my mother, even though I didn't know she was there at the time. I could go on, but the basic end of the story is that I stole the bomb and left it on top of a Pyramid. The detonator is somewhere in Chechnya, with him. _

_How am I supposed to contact any Jumpers if he's dead? How am I supposed to get him to trust me again? He tried to kill Millie! I did the right thing by leaving him! _

… _Right?_

_Anyway, I'm gonna go look for him. I don't know what else I can do. I know where he used to live, maybe he's still there. As for how the hell I'm going to get him to trust me? I'm just going to wing it. Wish me luck. _

– _D. R. _

\/\/\/

David put the pen down, placing it carefully next to his journal. Nobody would read it, he was confident of that. Nobody could break into his penthouse apartment, short of an explosive, and if that happened, he would know about it, no matter where he was in the world. He'd rigged a system that would trigger an alarm on his phone if anyone tried to break in. So, short of a Jumper miraculously being able to get into his penthouse, his journal was safe. Sighing slightly, he massaged his temples, sitting on his bed and –

– getting up off a bench in Paris, France. He glanced around once, stood up, and started to walk –

– down the middle of a street in London. Okay, so maybe he was procrastinating. What did that have to do with anything? Sighing, he rubbed the back of his neck, and turned –

– to view the unholy explosions that marked Chechnya. Fine. If his mother was truly convinced that this was the best course of action, and if was willing to believe her, then this was what he had to do. Sighing again, he saw the electrical tower where he'd abandoned Griffin.

It was empty.

_Okay, so, what did I expect? _David asked himself, trying to ignore the fact that his whole body had just gotten tenser. _I knew he wouldn't be here. But I had to check, right? Where do I go now? _

He looked around, took another step –

– and touched the hard rock floor, temporarily blinded as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the lair. The lair that was just as empty as the tower. There wasn't anything left, not even a scrap of litter. The games, the videos, the suitcases, the TV, the bed, the cabinets, the wires, the papers, the rubbish… It was all gone. Everything within it was completely gone, with no sign that anyone had ever lived there. The walls were crumbling in, the roof had collapsed in one part, sand had created massive drifts on the floor. There weren't any footprints; not even a pattern of sand to indicate a Jumpscar had been formed.

"Great," David muttered out loud, and then checked his watch. 7:39pm, according to the time-zone that Millie was currently in. He was supposed to pick her up at 8, so they could start their old tradition. He shook his head, and vanished, reappearing in front of her mother's house. A heavy snow was falling, reminding him of the night when he'd left the snowglobe on the swing behind the house.

With a small shiver, he walked up and knocked on the door. Millie's mother opened it, a friendly smile gracing her face as she saw who it was.

"Come in, David!" she urged. "Oh, my, it's so cold, isn't it? You must be freezing out there!"

"Uh, thanks, Mrs Harris," he replied, returning the smile. "H–How are you?"

"Oh, very well, thank you." She went to the stairs, and called "Millie! David's here!"

"Give me a minute!" Millie called back, adding a moment later "Hey, David!"

"Hey!" he shouted, smile widening. Mrs Harris took him by the elbow and sat him down on the couch.

"So what are you to up to these days?" she asked. "Carrying out the Christmas tradition again?"

David laughed. "You know us too well."

"I remember that so well," she sighed in warm reminiscence. "Millie always used to get so excited about it."

"A month of Christmas movies," Millie said from the stairs, her nostalgic smile reflecting that of her mother's. "Going around and buying those chocolate calendars that let you count down how many days there were until Christmas. Singing in the street. Decorating people's homes for them." She laughed softly. "Those were some of the best Decembers I've ever had."

David blushed faintly, and both Millie and her mother giggled slightly. The former came and took David by the hand, kissing her mother on the cheek as she did. "Love you, Ma," she murmured quietly.

"Love you too," Mrs Harris murmured back. "Take care out there."

"I always do." Millie told her, and then pulled away from her to be with David. "I'll be back in a couple of days, okay?"

"Alright." Mrs Harris said. "So long as you're both back in time for Christmas lunch!"

"We will be," David promised. "We're coming here first, for Millie's presents, and then we're going to my mother's for mine." He grinned. "After that, it's carnival rides all night long!"

"Sounds delightful," Mrs Harris said. "Now, go on, scram. I'm sure you two kids have a lot better things to do then hang around with an old lady!"

Another round of fresh laughter broke out, and Millie and David walked to the door. With a final round of goodbyes, they departed, walking outside. As soon as they were out of view of the house, David jumped them to Europe.

"Just think," Millie said wonderingly. "Christmas is almost here."

"Yes, it is," David agreed, hugging her close to him. "Only eleven sleeps to go…"

* * *

**Author's Note: **

Doug Liman says in an interview that David is 25. The movie says that David is 23. At the time of filming, Hayden Christensen was 27. Don't you love consistency? Anyway, in this fic, I'm kind of left with a choice. See, Jamie Bell is five years younger than Hayden Christensen. Does that mean that he should be 20 (according to Liman), 18 (according to the movie), or 22 (real-life age in 2008)?

In any case, hope you liked this. Let me know what you think of the age issue and this chapter, please?

Take care, all.

- Req.


	4. The Present

Chapter dedicated to Mindy Morganna (again!), and needtowrite. Thank you both so much for the reviews.

* * *

**U ****ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter Four: The Present

The eleven days before Christmas passed both frighteningly quickly and dangerously boring. It was the bittersweet time of knowing one year had just passed, one year which they could never have again, but at the same time, knowing that another year was coming their way; another year full of opportunities and all the experience they'd bring. You can never stop time, you can only hold on for dear life and enjoy the ride.

Or, at least, that was David's philosophy.

Right now he was in his penthouse. It was 8:55am, which meant that in Ann Arbor, it would be 11:55am. Five minutes until noon; five minutes until Christmas lunch with Millie.

His penthouse was madly decorated with Christmas lights, trees, foam cubes wrapped in shiny paper and paper chains that swung from the ceiling. Last night, both he and Millie had gotten buzzed - not drunk, but more than slightly tipsy - and gone wild with the decorations that he had. When they'd run out, he'd Jumped them to Wal-Mart and they'd cleaned out the place. So now he had a store's worth of lights glittering away, and he was bubbling with excitement.

The problem?

What to wear.

It was such a feminine problem that David almost couldn't bear to admit that he actually HAD a problem, but the fact remained that he'd gone through almost everything in his wardrobe, trying to look handsome but not too formal. He'd tried the jeans-with-a-nice-shirt look, he'd tried the nice-trousers-with-a-ratty-shirt-look, he'd tried the tuxedo (definite no) and now he was reduced to wondering what to wear.

8:57.

Sighing slightly in frustration and running his hands through his short hair, he glanced at himself in the mirror again and decided that if Millie truly loved him, she wouldn't care how he looked. Laughing at himself for being so selfish, he still studied himself in the mirror.

White joggers, dark green jacket, a white shirt and plain black trousers. That was fine, right?

8:58.

Groaning softly, David shrugged and tore himself away from his reflection. He Jumped to the table, and took two of the four packages that were lying there. Two of them were for Millie and Mrs Harris, the others were for Sophie and his mother.

With one last glance at himself in the mirror, he sighed, turned around, and Jumped.

\/\/\/

He didn't notice that there was something wrong at first. He didn't notice the trembling silence, the scent of blood in the air. He didn't notice the garbled static from the TV inside. He didn't notice that he had unconsciously become tense, his whole body stiffening.

He didn't notice, until he called out "Millie! Mrs Harris!" and heard the ringing echo, so rare in Ann Arbor. There was a type of white noise that seemed to subconsciously occur when the human brain realized that something was wrong, but the mind hadn't fully clued in as to what. He could hear that now, the faint noise that he could never fully make out, the noise that became louder when there was danger, the noise that had almost programmed him to Jump…

And then it clicked.

_SILENCE. _

David dropped the presents unceremoniously, Jumping inside with no second thought to secrecy. He ran into the living room, and slipped –

– _slipped? On what? –_

– falling to the wooden floor, covered in crimson blood, still warm. A horrified gasp tore from his lips, and his eyes tracked the source of the blood, rippling outwards from where he'd fallen in it. Mrs Harris lay on the ground, half-hidden behind the couch, her face open in a wide _SILENT _scream of _SILENCE _in the _SILENT _room oh God oh God where was Millie where was Millie WHERE WAS SHE WHAT HAPPENED WHAT HAPPENED –

David scrambled to his feet and slipped again, falling onto his knees. He was covered in blood, red, sticky, oh-so-horribly warm in that _DAMN SILENCE _which should have been full of laughter and happiness and words and friendship and love and instead was just _SILENT _without music or carols or bangs from bon bons or even a clock it was just _SILENT _and _SILENT _like when his mother had abandoned him and _SILENT _like when his father had died and _SILENT _like Millie's apartment had been in that one instant when he saw her, unconscious and helpless, before he was tagged by the Paladins and _WHERE WAS SHE? _

He got up again, frantically scanning the room, his hands flying to his head, blood beginning to trickle off them and down through his hair. Millie lay against the wall on the far side of the room, hidden behind the Christmas tree, behind the presents, _oh God what happened what happened what happened _and then he was kneeling beside her, screaming her name.

She was alive. She was alive but she wasn't awake and he couldn't get her to wake up and there was a note.

A note.

A note?

David took it from Millie's hand in trembling fingers, raising it up so that he could see what it said. It read the following, in large, child-like handwriting:

_Merry Christmas, brother. _

And there was nothing more.

Shaking in rage, David let out a hoarse yell of pure fury, and ripped the note in two. He stood up again, frantically looking for the Jumpscar that he knew should still be there. He found it, fading away, almost vanished, and forced his way through it with a Jump that ripped the room he left and the concrete he was now standing on apart.

Where was he?

An explosion of horns sounded around him, and he realized that he was in Tokyo – _IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD. _A car swerved to avoid him, as did another, as did another, until there was a massive, chaotic group of cars wheeling and smashing and breaking and losing control and there was the next Jumpscar!

David ran blindly towards it, trusting that it wouldn't close before he got there, trusting that it wouldn't lead to anywhere as dangerous as this. He vaguely realized that he was in shock, that he shouldn't be here but with Millie. The irrational part of himself ignored that, diving into the wormhole and following it through.

He collapsed onto the snow, unable to breath, unable to think in the piercing cold. His body had almost frozen solid, he could barely move an inch. He realised where he was with a horrifying sensation of feeling his own body freeze to death – Mount Everest. There was a Jumpscar. Two inches away from his groping hands. He couldn't reach it. Two inches; it may as well have been two miles. He Jumped the two inches, and then screamed as his body went completely numb, the skin turning purple. But he wasn't dead. He threw one hand into the wormhole, and Jumped.

_Falling. _

Where was he? He was in the air, how high, how high, the ground was only meters away, he was FALLING, where was the Jumpscar dear God where was the JUMPSCAR?

He saw it whistle past, reflecting light. He Jumped back up to where he'd fallen from, and then Jumped through it, only having time to barely note the red cliffs of Ethiopia as he left them, passing through a microsecond of darkness and finding himself in the middle of a dust storm.

Well.

This was great.

So far as he could tell, he wasn't in danger here, but he couldn't see three inches in front of his face. Closing his eyes before the dust could start to sting them, he blindly felt around. Instinct would tell him when his hand passed through a Jumpscar – but how did he know that the Jumper hadn't just started to run? For all he knew, the other could be standing three meters from him.

As if to prove that theory, a resounding punch knocked him to the soft sand of the desert. Before David could react, he felt a sharp kick in his side, and then another on his back. He cried out, and then managed to form coherent words, streams of insults flying from his lips. He couldn't see, even if he opened his eyes, so he relied on his hearing. There was a faint squish to his right, and he rolled away. He heard a frustrated curse, and realised he could actually smell the other – a strange combination of fresh water and dirt among the dust and sand. He lashed out in a random direction and felt his hand collide with a face – the right cheekbone. He heard a pained curse, and David demanded into red-black blindness "Why did you attack her?"

"Why didn't you let me wipe out the Paladins?"

"Griffin!"

"Duh, you dolt!"

"Listen – Griffin – wait – !" David yelled desperately. He was torn between attacking the other and getting revenge, or doing what his mother had asked him to do. He tried to think of what she would do, what Millie would do, and held up his hands in submission. He hated himself for it, but he had the idea that his mother might hate him more if he didn't. All he wanted right now was her approval, her love.

He didn't have anything else.

Just her.

So he held up his hands in submission and called "Truce! Griffin, I need to talk to you! Truce! Please!"

"What the hell do you want _this _time?"

He turned towards the source of the voice, cracking his eyes open a microscopic amount. Griffin was wearing pilot goggles, his arms crossed over his chest. He was standing in front of David, apparently finding it easy to see in the whirling red wind of dust. How he did that, David wasn't certain. Instead, he closed his eyes again and explained rapidly "I need – please – just –"

He heard Griffin sigh in disgust, and then felt a globule of spit hit his forehead. He shirked back, and Griffin roughly said "I'll be in the Coliseum in a couple of hours. If you want to talk to me, be there, fuckwit."

With that, the familiar sound of a Jumpscar ripping open reached David's ears, and he sighed, pushing himself into a kneeling position on the soft red sand. He wiped the spit off his face, suddenly feeling humiliated and small. There was a hurricane of emotions inside him, as wild as the whirling red sand around him. Pain, fear, anger, disgust, embarrassment, agony, resentment, sorrow, depression…

Unable to stand it anymore, he Jumped.

\/\/\/

Hawaii.

Peaceful. Calming. Relaxing.

It was 7am there, and he was swimming in the warm water with all of his clothes on, washing himself off as best he could. The smell of blood would bring sharks, but he'd be out of there before that happened, and he could honestly care less as to what happened to anyone else.

Except Millie.

Millie, who may or may not be dead by now.

Millie, whom he'd abandoned.

He couldn't bring himself to go back to the house. Not yet. He didn't know if the police were there or not, and the surging guilt and selfishness within him kept him tied to where he was now – alone, warm, safe. He felt weak and abandoned. On some level, he realised he was in both emotional and physical shock. Physical, from the cold on Mount Everest and being beaten up. Emotionally… well, that spoke for itself, didn't it? He'd been expecting nothing more than a nice lunch, movies, and then to be able to go and visit his mother and sister.

Now, he didn't know what to do. He was too scared to go and visit his mother, and he didn't have the guts to go back and visit Millie's mother's house.

He Jumped to the shoreline, sitting on the white sand and gazing out at the water. He was dripping wet, and he didn't even know why he had Jumped, but it didn't really matter, did it? He was a coward. A weak, gutless coward. He knew he'd have to go back sooner or later, but not now. Not yet. He couldn't face it.

Not yet…

* * *

**Author's Note;**

Hey all! It's been raining like mad here, so I've been writing like mad. I've got the rest of this fic outlined in great detail, even if it is a bit quirky. (Example: _Noooezzzz! Millie is attack-ted-ed by Griffin! Angsty angsty angst angst angst! Fighty fighty! Spit, muahahah, fighty fighty!_) So, my bizarre outlining skills aside, I hope you're doing well and living nice lives.

Please review?

- Req.


	5. Betrayed

Thank you again, Mindy.

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**U ****ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter Five: Betrayed

_Crime Scene Do Not Cross Crime Scene Do Not Cross Crime Scene Do Not Cross Crime Scene Do Not Cross Crime Scene Do Not Cross Crime Scene – _

David wearily walked along beside the yellow-and-black police tape. It stood out vividly against the white snow, circling around Millie's old house. Several police were wandering around inside, messing with "forensics", and several others were carrying equipment in and out. He had left Hawaii at 11am – or 4pm, depending on what time zone you looked at it from. Either way; it had taken four hours for him to face himself and actually force himself to come back here. He'd Jumped to his father's house, ignoring the young family who lived in it now. From there, he'd walked to Mrs Harris' home, hoping to seem like a casual Christmas-struck wanderer.

He passed the house, and then stopped. An elderly policewoman was standing there, leaning against the side of the police car, looking just as tired as he felt. She gave him a friendly nod as she saw him, but didn't seem interested in talking, so, with a quick glance around, David approached her and said "Hey. Mind if I uh, ask … ?"

"What happened here?" she laughed hoarsely. "Typical rookie break in. Some kid came in, found the two gals who lived here, stabbed them and freaked out. Left before he could steal anything."

David nodded, tilting his head to the side and asking "And the two woman?"

"One's in a critical condition at the hospital. The other's a goner."

David swallowed hard, and the policewoman looked at him intently. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about this, would you, son?"

"What?" David mentally kicked himself in the head. Casual Christmas-struck wanderer indeed. He was acting as suspiciously as the fictional thief who did this. "No, I, uh. No. Listen, thanks, but I have to go."

The policewoman raised an eyebrow. "Taking off in a bit of a hurry, don't you think?"

And all of a sudden David found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. The policewoman nodded sagely. "We were given your description by a bystander who saw you go in, but never come out. None of us thought you'd come back to see the damage you'd done, though."

David swallowed hard. "Listen, lady, you've made a mistake. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really," she drawled. "Well, then, I hope you'll understand when I say I have to arrest you anyway, just to see if that story holds up."

David put his head into his hands for a moment, pulling at his hair, groaning. Safe haven after safe haven falling away… He straightened up a moment, and looked the policewoman straight in the eyes. Then he punched her, quickly and directly, in the face. She staggered back, screaming, and he turned and began to run. The police chased him, but this was his home turf; they might patrol it, but he lived and breathed it. He Jumped almost as soon as he rounded a corner, acting on reflex. He didn't really know where he wanted to go; he just wanted to get out of Ann Arbor. Escape.

Again.

He landed in the Coliseum.

It was dark, and, if David had his time zones right, 10pm. Artificial light streamed from thousands of sources outside the Coliseum, but none within. Within, it was dark and untouched, secret. Standing where he was now, on the balcony overlooking the ancient ruins, he could almost feel the weight of the ages press down upon him. A muted echo of savage yells rose and faded within that moment, and he shuddered.

A second later, he was walking down the grassy centre aisle, nervously looking for Griffin. He didn't know whether the other was going to keep his word or not, and he didn't know when he was going to show up. Or, if he did show up, where. It was a big place, but David guessed that the main places would probably be where they had first met. And sure enough, as he approached the other end, there was a familiar figure sitting on the edge of the ruin, a dark silhouette against the faint urban glow in the sky.

"Hi," David said awkwardly, and Griffin snorted, jumping to sit at the base of the wall.

"Hi," he mimicked. "How's the girlfriend?"

"Comatose," David said flatly. He sat opposite Griffin, not meeting the other's eyes.

"What do you want?"

David stared at him. "You really don't care if you hurt someone, do you?"

"No," Griffin answered indifferently. "Besides, we're equal now."

"Equal?"

"Yeah. You ruined the one thing I cared about, I hurt the one girl you cared about. It's called karma, balance of the universe." He shrugged. "I just delivered karma myself."

"That's not karma. That's revenge."

"Balance of the universe," Griffin repeated steadily. "So tell me, Spidey. What do you want?"

David sighed heavily. "Listen, right now I'd love to beat the crap out of you, but I can't. I made a promise to my mother that I'd try and talk to you."

"Your _mother_?"

"Yeah."

"What in the blazing hell does your _mother _have to do with me?"

"She wants a truce," David told him simply, and saw incomprehension on the other's face, so he added "She's a Paladin."

The shocked look might have been almost comical, had it not been followed by terrifying apathy. "Oh, yeah. They do that."

"Do what?"

"Offer truces. Pretend to be nice. Pretend to be different." Griffin shook his head, laughing softly. "They're not different. They're all the same."

"You sound like Roland," David told him. Griffin shrugged again, still indifferent, and David tried a different tact. "What if it's real? Not fake?"

Griffin laughed again. "Listen, Davey, things never change. She's lying. Even if she's your mother, she's lying. She's just a stone cold bitch."

David felt his hand curl into a fist, and before he realized it, that fist had collided with Griffin's cheek again. He wasn't sure how he'd gone from one side of the hallway to the other, but suddenly he was pinned on the ground, and Griffin was thrashing him. Pain exploded on all parts of his body, and then David threw the smaller Jumper off him, kicking him.

Then they were both standing up straight, charging at each other, hitting, punching, kicking, pulling, pushing…

Griffin pinned David to the ground, and told him in a remarkably calm voice "If you do that again, I'll kill you. You got me?"

David nodded wordlessly, struggling weakly, and gasped as his breath left him as Griffin sat on his chest, pinning his hands underneath his legs. "Because you don't seem to _get it, _I'm going to try and explain something to you. We're _Jumpers. _They're _Paladins_. There will never be a truce until either side are _dead_. Alright?"

David shook his head. "That's not true," he managed to force out, rapidly running out of air as Griffin's weight crushed his lungs. "Mom – she would never – ."

"She's _using _you, David! She's pretending to be love you so you'll do what she wants! That's what they all do! All of them! None of them are ever real, no matter how close they are to you! Did you actually trust her? Did you believe her? Did you think that she'd love you and coddle you and give you a shiny gold star? You have no idea how this war really works! No idea!"

"You don't know her!" David yelled. "You don't know that that's true!"

"She's a Paladin! They get choices about it! They get paid to kill us, and they enjoy it! If she truly wanted a truce, she'd quit! She wouldn't ask for a Jumper to be brought to her so that she could torture and kill him! She would ask for forgiveness for what she'd done!"

"How – How did you know what her plan was?" David asked, able to breathe more easily as Griffin shifted his weight.

"Because they're always the same," Griffin shot back. "Always the same. Once you join the Paladins, you never turn back. Bloodthirsty, sadistic bastards… Oh, they can leave anytime they want all right, but they never ever do. They get a kick out of killing us. Once a Paladin, always a Paladin – what kind of job could ever replace being legally allowed to kill people and getting paid for it? They're sick, David, all of them, including your mother!"

David was silent for a moment, studying Griffin, before he began to talk. "Listen, Griffin, just because Roland killed your parents and you've had a bad life, it doesn't give you the right to make everyone else miserable. Maybe your parents hated you, I don't know, but I'm glad they're dead. I'd hate to see their reactions if they found out that their son grew up to be something like you."

Griffin went white, and David took that moment to strike. He snatched his hands out from underneath the other, and pushed him to the ground, throwing all of his strength into a karate strike that he'd only ever heard about. He aimed at the side of Griffin's exposed neck, at the part where it met his shoulder, and hit it less than a second later. Griffin shuddered, and then passed out in David's arms. David didn't smile, instead dropping Griffin and dragging him into one of the small, enclosed areas. He didn't know how long he'd been out for, but he couldn't stand listening to him any more.

What time would it be in Alaska, now? If it was 10:25pm in Rome, it'd be 12:25pm in Alaska. That meant that he still had six hours and forty-five minutes before he was due there for dinner.

_Do not listen at keyholes, lest you be vexed. _

David ignored the little voice that recited that in the back of his mind and Jumped.

\/\/\/

He arrived in his mother's house, upstairs, in the guest room. There was no sound from his Jump, only the glimmering scar leaving any sign of his passage. He exhaled slowly, and then moved stealthy out of the room. There was no-one in the hallway, and he quietly walked down the stairs. He could barely see Sophie's head above the couch, but he could see his mother's face. The two were watching something on-screen. Praying that he could perform another silent Jump, he passed through a wormhole and appeared underneath the couch that Sophie was sitting on. The Jump was silent, nonviolent, and his half-sister didn't even know he was there.

It was extremely dark and dusty underneath the couch. But it was actually surprisingly comfortable; he could stretch out as far as he wanted and not touch either end. He couldn't spread his arms out much, but that was fine. The danger was that the chances of him pulling off a third silent and nonviolent Jump were extremely small, meaning that Sophie would probably either feel or hear him leave.

But that was alright… So long as they weren't actually plotting against him.

David lay there in the dark, his eyes closed, listening.

"_You wanna see a magic trick? I'm gonna make this pencil disappear! See, see? Ta-DA! It's... It's gone." _

David vaguely recognised those words. Hadn't he watched that movie with Millie? The Dark Knight? But he ignored the words as Sophie giggled softly.

_"See, a guy like me -"  
"Freak."  
"Look. I know why you have your little group therapy sessions in broad daylight. I know why you're afraid to go out at night. The Bat Man."  
"What do you propose we do?"  
"It's, uh, simple. We, uh, kill the Bat Man."  
"If it's so simple, why haven't you done it?"  
"If you're good at something, never do it for free." _

"That's true," Sophie murmured. "Charge as much as you can. You know, the Joker's got a point." _  
_

"What do you mean, sweetie?"

"Sure, it's fun, and easy, but it's too simple. Too easy. Waiting is better."

Mary laughed approvingly, and the couch springs creaked as she reached over – presumably to ruffle Sophie's hair. David felt a hot wave of jealously wash over him, and fought to contain it.

"Thinking about the Jumpers, sweetie?"

"Yeah. Hey, Mom?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"What is it, hon?"

"Why didn't you kill David when he was just five?"

Mary paused, and David found himself suddenly unable to breathe. Then she answered. "I loved him. More than anything. I was willing to risk my job for him, as well as my life."

"So what changed?"

"You did," Mary murmured. "Once I had you… I'd left Mary Rice behind me. I wasn't going to let that weakness consume me twice."

Sophie readjusted her weight and, very hesitantly, asked "Does that mean you love me more than David?"

That was a question that David had always wanted to, but never had the courage to ask. He'd assumed instead that she loved them both equally, but he'd never had the strength to find out the truth… The truth which, like it or not, he was about to hear.

Mary didn't hesitate before answering, though. "Of course I love you more. You're my daughter. He's just an abomination who calls himself my son. Why would I love him?"

Sophie was quiet for a second, and then Mary added reassuringly, "Don't worry, sweetie. He'll be dead soon enough."

So now he knew.

David didn't know it was possible to actually feel his heart break. But there was a growing ache there, and his eyes were stinging. He shoved an arm across his mouth to keep himself from sobbing out loud. His mother, who had brought him into this world, who had freed him, who had looked him in the eye and told him she loved him… She had been lying.

He was unable to cope with any more. The events of the last few hours had wiped him out completely.

Concentrating the last of his energy on a silent Jump, he went back to the Coliseum.

_He's just an abomination who calls himself my son… Why would I love him? Don't worry, sweetie, he'll be dead soon enough. _

David slumped against the crumbling stone wall of the Coliseum, and began to cry.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

I love The Dark Knight. What else can I say? I'm pretty sure you know what I'm asking for... If you don't click the little green button, it'll be lonely. All alone... So leave a review, pretty please? :-D

Take care, all.

- Req.


	6. Lost

I have deep, deep misgivings about this chapter. It has something to do with the fact that I'm not thinking straight. Considering I also don't have a beta, I rely on myself for editing, and ... well, this chapter is most likely full of errors. I'm very sorry that I haven't updated sooner, by the way, but my mind is just... whoa.

* * *

**U ****ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter Six: Lost

David sat beside Griffin's unconscious frame, his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. His body was racking with sobs, and he was making no attempt to disguise the volume of his crying. Tears were pouring down his face, and he honestly couldn't help the sniffles which were accompanying them. He hadn't felt this desolate since his mother – _Mary _– had originally left him and his father. He'd cried for hours and hours after that as well, in the exact same position. His warm, caring, kind, protecting mother had left him.

This time, she'd left him for someone else.

Sophie.

That was what hurt most. Not the fact that she called him an abomination because of something he had no control over; not the fact that she was planning to use him and then kill him. She loved Sophie more than him. That big speech about loving them both equally, about not being able to stand them killing each other … it had been complete BS.

She wanted to kill him.

She loved her daughter more than she loved her abomination of a son.

David's weeping intensified, until he felt as though he might be sick with the force of his grief. Millie was comatose, her mother was dead because of him, and his own mother hated him and had only ever pretended to love him. The last three and a half months had just been pretence. For Sophie. For the Paladins.

He felt a sick rage well up within him, that faded away as he realised that he still couldn't kill them. No matter how angry he was, he would never be able to bring himself to kill either Mary or Sophie. Well, Sophie maybe, but never his mother. Those memories of when he was a five year old were simply too strong to be ignored, and to kill her would be to kill that part of himself forever.

David looked up from his arms to see Griffin, caught somewhere between unconciousness and sleep. He didn't know how he could tell the difference, but he needed to talk to the other more than ever… But there was something else he needed to do first.

He whispered "Please don't leave me," into the air, and then Jumped.

\/\/\/

If he couldn't Jump, would Mary had loved him more? Would she have stayed with him and his father? If he hadn't Jumped, would she ever have left? If she hadn't… So many things would be different. His father wouldn't be an alcoholic, for one. He wouldn't have grown up as an abused kid. He might have been a completely different person; someone who never would've been called Ricebowl, never bullied.

David's mind was reeling as he walked down the hallway of the hospital, following the directions the nurse had given him. He'd hardly even heard her, and he couldn't remember if he'd thanked her or not. He was so caught up with his own problems that he didn't even notice other the other people who he bumped into along the way. Half of his mind was counting turnoffs and following directions, the other half …

Moping. Angsting. Having a whinge. Having a temper tantrum.

But he had a right to do all of those things, didn't he? His mother wanted to _kill him, _and she loved her other child more than he loved him. Didn't he have a right to mope after his Christmas had been absolutely destroyed?

_Karma. _

"Shut it, Griffin," he murmured out loud, earning him a few odd looks from the others around him. He didn't care, and took a right turn into the ward where Millie was. Third room on the right…

There!

He walked into the quiet ward, the silence only broken by the electronic beeps. Millie was lying on her own, looking extremely weak and fragile in the hospital bed. Her long dark hair was gone, cut off to make way for the bandages they'd wrapped over half her face and her head. There were more bandages, running up and down her arms, and by the looks of it, there was one on her stomach as well.

He sat down beside her on a chair, pulling closer to the bed and holding her hand. It was neither cool nor warm, neither dry nor damp. It felt as if it was a doll's hand, and lying there, so limp, so still, Millie could have been just that; an oversized doll.

David suddenly felt repulsed, revolted by her, quite sure he would be sick with the force of the feeling. He felt bile rising in his throat and choked on it, just as he'd choked his own emotions before walking into the hospital. Gently laying his head beside her on the bed, he looked at her hand, willing the feeling to go away. It slowly faded, and he began to quietly talk.

"Hey, Mill. It's me. I, uh… I heard that if you talked to someone who was in a coma, they could hear you. I, um. I don't know if that's true, or not, but, I figure it's worth a shot, you know?" he laughed falsely, awkwardly. "Yeah, well. I, um… I'm sorry, Millie. I really am. I didn't know what was going to happen, and I, I'm sorry I didn't stop it. It's my fault. I don't know if you can hear me, Millie, but if you can…" he cleared his throat, and then said without looking at her "I love you."

Was it his imagination, or had her grip tightened on his for a moment?

"I've loved you for fifteen years, and I've never had the guts to say it like that. I've … I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, when it actually meant something. I know I have said it, but, it's always been a kind of throwaway thing. I've never meant it as a commitment, and that's all I want now. It's selfish to say this when my mother has just abandoned me again, but I love you, and I can only hope you'll love me too. Again, I'm sorry Mill."

David felt his eyes sting again, and closed them, willing the tears to go away. Voice trembling slightly, he whispered "I'm sorry. I love you."

And with that, he couldn't bear it anymore. Seeing her, so delicate, so fragile, all on her own…

He couldn't bear it.

He let go of her hand, and Jumped.

\/\/\/

Griffin had only ever cried once out of sorrow. He'd cried in pain before, often, but only once in sorrow. But now, still weakened from his experience in the tower and the haunting madness following at his heels, he bypassed crying and simply … left.

Ever since he was six, he'd unknowingly adopted a defence that allowed him to just switch off from the world. One misplaced punch, one comment that hit too close to home, and his fractured mind would hide from itself within itself. It was a bizarre process, and Griffin hated it, but it did allow him to cope more or less. When he couldn't escape from his problems by Jumping, his mind would quietly disconnect itself from reality and lose itself in memories.

Or, at least, that was how it had used to be.

Even more broken now than he had been before, his thought processes had completely short-circuited. With no memories of his parents, or even the details that made up a normal person's backstory – age, birthday, full name, original home town – there was nowhere to hide. So instead of falling into a peaceful, completely unaware state, he was now locked into a half-lucid frame of mind. It felt almost as though he was daydreaming, unable to escape, his eyes open and his body perfectly still, but unable to exist within either the real world or his pretend one, created from the memories he'd now lost.

If he hadn't been so completely wiped, he might have been furious about this. Once he 'returned', on some level he knew he probably would be, but for now he was just … gone.

Lost.

Swirling, drifting, dizzying thoughts, accompanied by stabs of phantom sensations. He was numb on the outside, but at the same time, every nerve was screamingly aware of what was going on around him. He couldn't feel, and yet he'd never been quite so alive as he was now. He couldn't bring himself to go deeper into his illusion, or to break it. He was trapped in a paradox, and he couldn't get out.

Alone.

No memories; nowhere to hide. No _good _memories, at least. The ones of Roland were perfectly intact. Roland and David. David's girl, Millie. Fighting the Paladins, winning, losing, Jumping. Jumping and Jumping. America, Australia, China, Korea, Japan, Russia, Scotland, Iceland, Greenland, France, Antarctica, Canada, South America, Indonesia, Cambodia, the Middle East, Mexico, Italy, Africa, India, Germany….

England…

Gone.

Griffin's body curled up, his knees drawing up to his chin and his arms wrapping protectively around his own legs. He rested his chin on his kneecaps, dark eyes glazed over as he started sightlessly ahead. For a moment, with his mask completely gone, he looked extremely vulnerable – and then his expression hardened again, almost reflexively.

Dead…

Griffin faded deeper, almost completely unable to sense the world around him now, but his mind alert and howling.

…

Karma, he'd told David. Karma.

Griffin believed in Karma about as much as he believe in Pastafarianism. "Karma" had just been a senseless lie in an attempt to throw David off track – not that it had worked. David wasn't even supposed to be here right now; he was supposed to be in Ann Arbor, crying pathetically over his comatose girlfriend and her dead mother, blaming himself for everything that had gone wrong.

But no, David had chased him.

Griffin, paranoid, had been expecting it to a certain extent. He'd detoured halfway around the world for that particular purpose, but even then, he'd still been surprised to see the American stumble out of a Jumpscar and grovel at his feet. Then the request to meet him, on equal ground.. It was no wonder Griffin had spat on him; he truly was pathetic. The arrogance and cowardice that had carried David through so many situations weren't supposed to apply anymore.

And yet…

He'd knocked Griffin out, and gone to attend to whatever other business he had, discarding him like an old shoe. Just the way he'd left him in Chechnya; struggling, helpless, dying.

Nineteen days of hell…

David hadn't even apologised for that. He'd just charged blindly in with a false offer of a truce. Once that was denied… and discarded…

Had he even checked on his oh-so-precious girlfriend yet? She whom he'd abandoned in Rome? If there was any relationship that wasn't going to last, it was that one. The same went to the family; what kind of peaceful coexistence could there be between two Paladins, one a virtuoso and one still new to the trade, and a Jumper?

_Of course I still love you son; just hold still and let me stab you through the heart. All done! Just another day at the office, my dear daughter. Don't forget to take notes. I love you too. _

Love…

Like any Jumper could actually love. There was only thing a Jumper ever did, and that was escape. If not physically, then mentally, much like Griffin was doing now. David hadn't progressed to that stage yet, and he hadn't sustained enough emotional trauma or physical abuse to ever find himself in that stage, but the physical escapism was still there. There would never be a heroic Jumper; they were just people, trying to deal with their own problems. Humans dealt with their own problems; Jumpers dealt with theirs. Simple, easy to remember. Except for the idiots who, while they did escape, decided to draw as much attention to themselves as possible and live like kings.

With family. And people who loved them.

Griffin mentally winced, and his mind splintered, carrying his train of thought down a different track.

Love. Hate. Roland.

If it hadn't been for Roland, none of this would have ever happened. As much as Griffin hated the man, he also respected him. He was an enemy who had proved himself to be just as hard to kill as Griffin himself. Considering Prague…

_Splinter. _

A ripple of phantom pain circled around Griffin's arm, but in his current state, it was nothing more than a far-away itch that wasn't worth scratching. Instead, he just let his mind go blank, and …

… fade …

_And Griffin lost himself within another layer of conciousness, slowly and unsteadily sinking towards rock bottom. He'd been there before, immediately after the incident in Prague, but with his newly-broken mind, he wasn't sure what he'd find there. He didn't want to know what he'd find there. Try as he might, he was still stuck with being somewhat aware of the world around him. There was no blissful silence for him to escape to. He could still feel the cold night on his skin, and he could still see the moss-covered wall in front of him. Pure hatred and jealousy were coursing through his veins, but his body was unresponsive, the splinters in his head making it impossible for his coherent thought processes to link to another part of his brain and force himself to move. At least, not without outward stimulus. _

_He dimly heard sobbing somewhere, coming from a long way behind him. David was back, and if what he could hear was any indication, whatever had happened hadn't gone well. Griffin felt a vicious surge of satisfaction at that, before another splinter moved and his thoughts meandered down a different track. He had so many different realities now that it was impossible to tell what he considered a lie and what he considered the truth. Did it matter, though? Did anyone actually care if he told the truth, or just a strange parody of it? _

_Lost within himself. Again. _

\/\/\/

"Griffin?"

David cautiously knelt in front of the smaller Jumper, trying to meet his eyes. When there was no response, he slowly waved his arm across Griffin's field of vision. He didn't even blink.

"Shit," David muttered. He wiped his hands across his face, before gripping his own short hair and swearing again, louder this time. He lightly slapped Griffin's cheek. Again, no response. Above them, a light rain began to fall, steadily becoming heavier.

"Shit, shit, shit."

David sat back on his haunches in what was now mud, watching Griffin warily. After almost a minute of silence, Griffin's left arm raised about an inch, the fingers flexing upwards as if to ward off a blow. He didn't seem to notice the rain, and his face was still as blank as ever. David groaned, softly pleading.

"Griffin? Can you hear me? Griffin! Please! Wake up!"

\/\/\/

_That rage was back. Slowly building, steadily taking away any pillars of logic or reason he had left. Lucidity was slowly returning, but Griffin was now desperately trying to force his own mind to stay submerged, so that he didn't have to deal with the situation kneeling in front of him. Just stay unconscious and let fear do the rest. Would David leave him alone then? _

_His revenge was supposed to be perfect; David was supposed to love Millie enough so that he would have stayed by her side, crying about the unfairness of it all. He wasn't supposed to chase Griffin. He wasn't supposed to be able to manipulate him into meeting the other. He definitely wasn't supposed to arrive, bearing news of a truce. _

_Of course, the way life would have it, he had done everything he wasn't supposed to do. And naturally, the moment he decided that he wanted to remain in this state, simply because it meant he didn't have to interact with the other, he found himself becoming more aware of everything around him. _

_He blinked, the world swimming into focus. David's face along with it. _

_Great… Just great… _

\/\/\/

David flinched backwards as Griffin's eyes met his, smouldering once more. Neither of them said anything, instead silently studying each other, sitting in the rain, before David asked "What was that?"

"Nothing to do with you. Why do you care? It's not important. It's just something. Why do you care?"

"I was. Uh. I was worried about you."

Griffin snorted, pulling himself into a standing position and looking up at the dark sky. "Lucky me."

"I'm sorry."

Griffin froze for a second, before shrugging off the apology and the water on his jacket. "So?"

"I didn't want to hurt you. Ever. I was just. Worried. I didn't know what to do."

"Alright, who rejected you this time? What do you need?"

"Advice," David said simply.

"Go call a helpline," Griffin shot back.

"Please."

"I can see what you're trying to do."

"Look, I just want to talk to someone. You're the only one I know who can… just … please. You said we were equal, so… I just want a friend."

Griffin snickered. "No way. You lost that chance a long time ago."

"Then give me another chance! You said we were equal! Please, Griffin, I just - !" David covered his face with his hands, turning away, his shoulders shaking. Griffin stopped dead, watching. David didn't turn back around, and he didn't try to speak, his grief seizing hold of him again.

Griffin watched him for a long time, internally wrestling with himself. His nature screamed for him to get away, and escape while he still could. The more human part of him, the part that he could never fully get rid of…

Too many realities. So many motives, lies, wants, needs, truths, ideals, hopes, fears…

The rain began to fall more heavily, and David shivered. His own green jacket had been lost earlier that day, somewhere in Hawaii. Wrapping his arms around himself, he just faced the wall, trying to pull himself together. He didn't realise the rain had stopped hitting him until an unexpected warmth around his shoulders made him look down.

Griffin's too-large leather jacket was slung around David's shoulders. The Jumper himself was standing, bare arms crossed, head tilted to the side and a slightly challenging look on his face.

"I'm going to totally fall asleep here, but… You've got an hour. Talk."

And David, overwhelmed with gratitude, did.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

_So, if you've read this, and you've survived whatever horrendous errors I've most likely made, please point out those aforementioned errors on the **blue **button below. If there aren't, for some weird reason, any errors, please also point this out via the blue button below. __ My mind is seriously... gah... at the moment, but, yeah. You know what I mean. Do you? I hope you do. Whee, insanity! In any case, I__ hope you're all well, and thank you for the reviews.  
_


	7. Christmas Wishes

_Thank you all for the reviews. _

_I'm sorry for not posting sooner, but, you know that thing they call "life"? Yeah, that intervened. I'm sorry.  
_

_On another note, I can't believe I'm posting this chapter. I personally think it's terrible. But a certain someone, whose username totally isn't Scythe of the Reaper, may or may not have convinced (read: blackmailed) me into posting this version of the chapter. The drafted version. The un-beta'd version. You get the idea, right? I hope it isn't as terrible as I think it is, but I'm pretty sure it'll be undergoing revision sooner or later. _

_In the meantime. Read. "Enjoy".  
_

* * *

**U ****ɴ ƒ o ʀ ɢ ɪ v ᴇ ɴ**

Chapter Seven: Christmas Wishes

David sat at the table, his eyes cast downwards. Christmas carols were being played from some anonymous location in the house. Sophie was softly humming along to them.

"_So what's wrong with you this time, Spidey?" _

He determinedly cut into the meat, his hands trembling slightly. His mother was talking to him, telling him a story, but he didn't hear a word of it. He was nodding at the appropriate intervals, but his mind was elsewhere.

"_Ah. Well, you're fucked, aren't you?"_

He heard himself laugh, and inwardly wondered why. He didn't quite know what he was doing; his body was acting on impulse, just like it had been for the last five hours. He'd heard of emotional shock before, but he'd never experienced the affects of it firsthand. At least, not to this degree. He didn't know how or why it had kicked in so suddenly, but the fact remained that it had. With somewhat disastrous results.

"_So __**what**__? What's that supposed to mean?"_

David looked up, catching Sophie's eye. She winked, displaying none of the hatred towards him that he knew she felt. Mary was smiling and laughing as well, her tone perfectly designed to sound warm, loving and compassionate. It was a bizarre mockery of a real family, and each of the three were aware of it, even though they would all rather die than admit to lying.

"_La-de-da-de-da. Get a grip already." _

If none of them had never before earned an Academy Award for acting, right now David, Sophie and Mary were all deserving of one. David cracked a joke, and Sophie giggled, her shy smile hiding the ice in her green eyes. Mary smiled at both of them, her gaze lingering on David as she handed out bon-bons. Their presents hadn't been exchanged yet, sitting underneath the glowing Christmas tree behind the dining table. The bright lights were the only illumination in the room, rigged up along the walls and the ceiling. They reminded him of the paper chains that Millie and he had strewn through his apartment, and with a silent pang in his heart, he shoved another forkful of food into his mouth.

"_Let's get something clear here, alright? You don't understand me. You don't know me. I don't understand you, but I know you. You can pretend what you want, but I know you." _

Sophie moved her seat back, wiping at her mouth with a napkin and an apologetic look, excusing herself to go to the bathroom. In the sudden silence that fell unexpectedly during her absence, Mary reached over and took David's hand in her own. They stayed like that for a long moment, his clammy, sweaty hand clutched in her own cool, dry one. They had both stopped eating, instead just watching each other as the Christmas lights danced around them. The dizzying shadows kept moving, some alien animal that had come alive in the façade of festivity.

"_We can't ever just work together, can we?" _

Sophie's soft footfalls heralded her return, and Mary picked up her fork just before her daughter walked back into the room. For his part of the act, David reached over and served himself something out of a silver bowl. He didn't know what it was, and he couldn't taste the food anyway. With a sigh that was supposed to sound content, he finished what was on his plate, and leant back in his carved wooden chair, watching his mother and his sister eat the rest.

"_Have it your way. I thought, maybe … Forget it." _

Sophie finished next, her gaze settling on the flickering lights above David's head. She was still humming along to the carols, before she began to murmur the words to the song. Jingle Bells, Batman Smells, Robin Laid An Egg… David smothered another laugh, pulling the sleeves of _his _leather jacket down slightly. Mary kept eating, eyes flickering between her two children. She seemed undecided about something. David didn't even want to guess at what that might be.

"_If you're going to be like that – listen, I don't have to put up with this crap. You got that? I'm leaving." _

Mary finished her meal, and stood up. Sophie and David followed her lead, before settling down again, underneath the branches of the Christmas tree. He handed the presents he had bought to his mother and sister, watching their faces light up with what looked like genuine joy as they ripped the wrapping paper off the boxes. Mary was holding a beautiful golden necklace in her hands, and Sophie was carefully cherishing a clear snow-globe. This one had a small, perfect replica of Big Ben in it, complete with the correct time for the Alaskan time zone. Sophie also had a necklace, silver, with an onyx stone hanging off it. She put it on at once, then helped her mother get the catch for her own golden necklace.

"_You don't ever give up, do you?" _

Once the two had thanked him, David found himself unwrapping a small box to reveal a handsome, custom-made watch. There were fourteen different hands on it, each colour-coded to the location it was designed to follow the time of. Alaska was blue, Oregon was green, Sydney was lime, Tokyo was black, Paris was silver, London was red and New York was gold. It was fairly simple to look at, until you realised the depth of information that was on the screen.

"_What – what are you doing?"_

Sophie, giggling madly, watched David blush bright red as he opened her gift to reveal bright pink thermal underwear. He playfully tossed the wrappings at her, only to duck as she fired them back. A moment later, paper was raining from the ceiling as the two tackled each other, David pulling the thermal underwear over his normal clothing and clowning around in it. Even Mary laughed until she had tears in her eyes, and David began to fully comprehend just how much he wished that this whole scene was real.

"_You can't! David, you can't do this! It's … "_

Maybe it could be, someday. Maybe even tonight.

"_Oh, no. No, no, NO!" _

Half an hour later, once the room had been completely cleaned up, David said his goodbyes. He kissed Mary on the cheek and hugged Sophie close to him, breathing in the scent of her hair. It had started snowing outside, and the power had started blinking on and off. Mary and Sophie seemed completely content with it though, waving him goodbye as he turned in a circle and disappeared off the porch.

"_You can't keep following me!" _

David stepped onto a table in Australia. He was on Mount Seaview, looking out over the Pacific Ocean. It was far warmer here than it had been in Alaska, even though it was later at night. He gazed at the ocean, biting his lower lip softly. He was sitting on the main part of the table, his feet beside his thermal underwear on the sitting bench. His new watch was on his left wrist, glowing softly in the darkness.

"_I just wanted to help you. Fuck! I just wanted to __**help**__!" _

All David wanted was to be accepted. He'd lost Ann Arbour as a refuge; he'd lost Millie; he'd lost Griffin. At least his family still pretended to love him. Maybe, just maybe, that pretence could become real. David watched the starlight on the water for a long time, before slipping off the table and walking into the trees. He picked something up, and then Jumped again.

"_Motherfucking bastard!" _

He knocked on the door of the house. Sophie opened it, holding a candle. She was dressed in a silken dressing gown, her silver necklace still hung around her throat. David held Griffin's unconscious frame in his arms, silently offering her the limp body. A dark, cruel smile curled across her face, and she opened the door wider.

The candle went out.

* * *

**Author's Note: **

_So there you go... _

_The italics were part of the conversation David had with Griffin after Griffin offered to listen to him. It turned into an argument, and it's playing pretty heavily on David's mind. Or, at least, that's how the chapter is supposed to be written. Le sigh. Again, I hope that this isn't as terrible as I think it is, and I hope that you guys at least got some enjoyment out of it._

_Thank you all for your previous reviews, and feel free to rip this chapter apart if you didn't like it. (Or flame Scythe, either way.) _

_If you did like it, please tell me!_

_I guess what I'm saying here is ... either way, please leave a review! Haha...  
_

_If anyone out there is doing NaNoWriMo, good luck! Hope you're all well and that your eyes aren't bleeding. Take care! _


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